Gratitude
by Tyranusfan
Summary: Set after 5x02 Good God Yall. Lucifer wants to repay his debt to Sam. Based mostly on the preview for 5x03, NO spoilers, just my ideas. Rated T for some horror.


_Set after Sam leaves in episode 5.02 (Good God Y'all). This is based mostly on the preview for 5.03, where Sam is seen talking to Jess, but there's no spoilers, just my ideas. I'm sure come next episode, all this will be AU. LOL!_

_Special thanks to Phx and geminigrl11 for their very fast and helpful betas. I own nothing. Reviews craved. _

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**Gratitude**

"You set him free, and he's going to be grateful! He's going to repay you in ways that you can't even imagine!"

--Ruby to Sam, _Lucifer Rising_

00000

Sam was already on his second glass of whiskey, but was in no hurry. It wasn't like he had anything to do or anywhere to go. He was sure the bartender didn't care how long he stayed, so long as he could pay.

He'd been away from Dean for three weeks, ever since leaving River Pass. Colorado was five states behind him, and Dean was…somewhere. Sam had started to dial Dean's number four times that night, and a dozen more since getting in that truck. He wanted to talk to his brother, hear his voice, ask him what he was doing, make sure he was all right…all those things.

He'd returned the cell to his pocket each time.

Dean didn't need him. Sam was a distraction, holding Dean back from saving the world. His big brother's destiny. It wasn't surprising. Sam could have told everyone that when he was four. His brother was a hero, after all.

Sam had spent a year playing hero. Pretending that he could do what Dean was---apparently---preordained to do. He'd entertained some grand fantasy of stopping Lilith, killing her before she started Armageddon. Sam had the power; he could be what he'd always wanted to be…just like his brother. A hero. Kill the bad guys and save the world. Prove his worth.

His brother had returned from Hell a shadow of his former self. Broken. Riddled with doubt. Ravaged with guilt over things he'd seen and done, none of which he could have prevented or resisted. Sam knew that. Sam had tried to take up the slack. Tried to take Dean's place and finish what his brother didn't seem capable of.

Yeah, that worked out well.

Like Dean could ever be replaced.

Leaving had been the right thing to do. Sam was certain of that. He was a danger to Dean, to winning the war. Dean had a battle to fight, and Sam was still trying to pick up the pieces he'd left everywhere with his obsession and blindness. Sam was still trying to find himself somewhere beneath the pile of guilt and addiction that seemed to be all that was left of his life.

Dean didn't have time for that. Couldn't take the time. He needed to focus so that he could save them all, which is why Sam had to get out of the way and take his problems with him.

And "out of the way" led him to that bar. In that town, that state, wherever he was. It led him to squatting in an abandoned house a mile down the road from where he sat. All his worldly possessions were in two bags---though he'd realized too late that some of his clothes were in the Impala's trunk. He had a few weapons. The .45 Dad had given him. His Gurkha blade. A shotgun. A little ammunition, not that he should need it. Sam wasn't hunting anything anytime soon.

He wasn't doing much of anything. There was nothing to do. Addiction to demon blood was a topic no one had ever bothered to research, let alone write about. He couldn't hunt down demons and ask them, first because they wouldn't tell the truth, and second, because that was precisely why he'd left---to escape the temptation that fed the addiction. That didn't leave many options. So, he just existed, and occasionally flirted with the hope that maybe, someday, Dean would talk to him again.

"Closin' time, everybody! Clear out."

The bartender's words took a moment to penetrate Sam's glum mood. He blinked and looked at his watch. It was only a little past nine…. He turned on the stool and looked around the room. Everyone was leaving quietly, no one milling except the employees. _Hmm. All right_.

Frowning at the odd hours, Sam dropped some money on the bar and slid to the floor. He wasn't drunk yet---not the way he wanted to be---just felt a little flushed. He moved steadily toward the door, fidgeting with his jacket, until he heard the heavy exit door slam shut and bolt.

Sam looked up at the noise, and saw the two bouncers blocking the exit. The bartender entered his peripheral vision from the left, a female hostess from the right. All of them had black eyes.

Par for the course.

"Howdy, Sam." The barkeep called jauntily. He seemed pleased.

With a sigh, Sam stepped back and stalled. "Whatever you want, I can't help you. Bother someone else."

There was a fire exit in the back; with some luck, Sam might be fast enough to reach it. He had a flask of holy water in his pocket, and his sidearm tucked into his jeans, but it was loaded with iron rounds, not salt. Sam hadn't expected an ambush.

But, then, why hadn't he? The rest of his life sucked ass, why shouldn't a simple drink at a bar in Nowhere, USA?

The hostess moved, stepping into his path of escape. She was grinning like the others. "We have what we came for, Sam."

Sam shook his head, tired for reasons more than alcohol and lack of rest. "Naturally."

The bouncer moved toward him, not looking as congenial as the others. The man was twice his size, but Sam held his ground. When the demon got within arm's reach, Sam grabbed its wrist and spun, using the host's momentum to send him into the side of the bar head first.

He drew the flask from his pocket as he came about, and sent a stream of holy water at the bartender, who went down screaming and clutching his face. That's as far as he got.

Something swiped Sam's legs out from under him, sending him sprawling. He recovered quickly, jumping back to his feet in time for the other bouncer to tackle him. They landed in a tangle of arms, legs, and bar stools. The demon, in a slightly smaller host than its pal in the other bouncer, slugged him across the jaw and slammed its knee into Sam's groin.

Before he had time to recover, the other bouncer rejoined the fight and added its ham-fisted hands to the attack.

Darkness claimed Sam a few blows later, whisking him into blissful unconsciousness.

00000

Sam was cold. He was cold, his body ached, and he had a pounding headache. Groaning, he pulled the sheets higher, trying to get warm.

Sheets?

His eyes snapped open, which only enflamed his headache. He looked around a darkened, unfamiliar room, then down. Sam was lying in a bed, shirtless, alone.

_Uh, okay_.

The last thing he remembered was being beaten unconscious in the bar. Oddly, it wasn't even the worst beating he'd ever taken. He was relatively uninjured, save some bruises and a few deep---admittedly throbbing---aches in certain places.

The room was Spartan. Besides the plain, clean bed, there was a nightstand---where the gray T-shirt he'd been wearing under his clothes rested, pressed and folded neatly---a rug, a couple of hanging pictures…and that was about it. A closed door stood beyond the foot of the bed, and a curtained window on the wall to the right. It was nighttime, if the bluish glow bathing the room was any indication.

Where the hell was he? Why would demons beat him up, then put him to bed? Comfortably?

"Relax, Sam. You're safe here."

Sam jumped at the sudden voice. He whipped his head around, finding the source inches away, sharing the bed where he'd definitely been alone a moment before.

More disturbing was the source itself. His eyes widened in disbelief, and he scrambled back until the headboard blocked any further retreat. "_Jessica_?"

She just nodded at him.

"I'm hallucinating…." Sam shook his head to clear it. Was that it? Had the withdrawal just taken longer to set in this time?

"This isn't a dream, or a hallucination." Jess said softly.

It wasn't possible. Sam stared, open-mouthed, as she smiled sweetly. She didn't seem at all affected by his horrified reaction. Her eyes, though, seemed to pierce right through to his core. He was transfixed.

"W-what--- What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for you." Jess replied calmly, kindly. So much like the way he remembered her, but _off_ somehow.

"What?"

"Would you believe I'm trying to protect you?"

He blinked. That…was curious. "From what?"

"You. Your pain."

Sam couldn't tell if she was being deliberately cryptic, or just thought that the reason for her presence was obvious. He was certainly having trouble with it. "What does that mean?"

She pushed herself up to her knees and reached out, her hands brushing his shoulders. "So much pain…you're drowning in it, Sam."

Sam tensed, but couldn't bring himself to move. He stayed against the headboard. Her hands squeezed his shoulders, then rubbed down his arms and it was so familiar he almost got lost in the feeling. The warmth of her touch---

Then it hit him. He knew this feeling. He'd felt it in that grocery store in Colorado, when he was staring at what he thought was demon blood on Ruby's knife.

Temptation.

He felt himself falling toward it, wanting whatever it was offering…then the chill in the air hit him again and it jerked backward. "No!"

Sam looked at her again, her features were as beautiful as always. Too beautiful. Too much like he remembered her, and not enough like the real Jess. The chill got worse. He was shaking. "Who--- _What_ are you?"

Jess spoke as though he hadn't. "I felt your pain the moment you opened the door. So strong, I could drown in it. Loss. Hopelessness. Rejection…."

_The moment you opened the door_… Sam gasped. _No. No, no, no_. This wasn't happening. "You…."

"I know what it feels like, Sam. To be rejected by your brothers, by your family. To be judged for your failings and called a monster…."

Jess watched him as he drew back from her, compassion on her face. She looked so beautiful, but revulsion crashed over Sam. He slid off the bed, feet landing on the freezing cold floor. He didn't spare any time to wonder why it was so cold. It was a summer night.

"Don't you see, Sam? We're the same."

Sam shook his head, incredulous. "We---? No! I'm nothing like you."

Jess smiled. "Pride. I know that feeling, too."

He shook his head. Sam looked around, but there was nothing in the room he could defend himself with. Not that anything he'd seen could stop an angel in any event, fallen or otherwise. He grabbed the T-shirt off the table and yanked it on, feeling somewhat safer, irrationally, by having that thin shield of fabric between him and---

_Lucifer_.

"What are you going to do to me?" It was more bravado than anything. Sam didn't really want to know.

A pair of hands brushed his neck. Sam spun and found Jess behind him. He looked back at the empty bed. She had just been---

"Don't be afraid of me, Sam. I'm not your enemy."

Sam stumbled back and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. "If you're going to kill me, just do it. Get it over with."

He had to admit, the prospect of being put out of his misery certainly appealed to him. There hadn't been a better time in a long while. He was alone. Dean would never know. Never have to see it. Never have to do the deed himself.

Jess---_Lucifer_---appeared behind him again, on the bed, her hands wrapped around Sam's shoulders. She moved so impossibly fast it left Sam dizzy.

"I'm not the monster they make me out to be. I think you, of all people, understand _that_, Sam. I'm not going to kill you."

Sam squelched the jab of disappointment. "Then, why did you bring me here?"

"To repay my debt."

Sam whipped around at the new voice, finding a man sitting on the bed. Jess was gone. The man was…really ordinary. He was rumpled, hadn't shaven in what looked like a few days, pudgy around the middle. No one Sam recognized, except for the sadness in the eyes. Sam couldn't stop looking at them. They reminded him of what he saw when he looked in a mirror.

The man smiled faintly; his face appeared understanding, sympathetic. "I know what you're thinking. I'm 'the bad guy.' I'm supposed to threaten you, terrify you. Look at me, Sam. Do I look like I could scare anybody?"

Sam…had to agree with that. The man didn't _look_ all that dangerous. But then, of the things he and his brother had hunted, an awful lot of them had started out that way.

"Anyway," the man continued. "As I said, I'm just here to pay up. I don't let my debts ride. It's a matter of honor. I know you know what that means, Sam. You're an honorable man."

"What debt?" Sam asked, confused and a little off balance. Lucifer wasn't what he expected. Still, terror was still clawing at Sam's insides, so he was pretty sure he was looking at the real deal.

"You set me free!" Lucifer exclaimed happily. "You were the only one strong enough to do it. I owe you big. Call me, Nick, by the way, if that helps. No need for us to be formal. So, tell me, Sam. What do you want? What can I do to repay you? Anything! Just ask."

Sam reeled. Nick? The devil's name was Nick? And he wanted to do Sam a favor. The insanity of it was all Sam could focus on.

_Lucifer is circling his vessel_…. Castiel's words floated back to him. Lucifer needed a meatsuit. 'The rules,' as Zachariah had claimed. Sam looked back at the man. Looks like Lucifer had come in for landing.

"You're a vessel."

"Nick" shrugged, unperturbed by Sam's difficulty catching up.

"You're possessing this man."

"With permission," Lucifer corrected, wagging a finger at Sam. "Always with permission. Now, about my debt to you…what can I do?"

Sam shook his head. He had to get out of there. Obviously, the demons had found a way to track him, but Cas said the sigils on his ribs would shield him from detection from any angel. That included Lucifer. All he had to do was escape and hide himself from the demons. He stepped toward the door.

"I wouldn't do that, Sam," Lucifer said, almost self-consciously. "My children…well, they aren't as well-behaved as they should be sometimes. They won't like it if they think you're being rude to me."

"I just want to leave," Sam said, as firmly as he could manage. He turned back to Lucifer and tried to keep his face neutral. "That's what you can do for me. I want to go back…."

"To what, Sam? That bar? That rat hole you're squatting in? To a brother who turned his back on you?"

"Dean didn't---"

"Besides, that doesn't work." Lucifer waved his hand dismissively. "I'm going to let you go anyway, Sam. You can't ask for that. That can't be a gift. I want it to be something special. You achieved what most people said was impossible, my friend. Your payment should be worthy of that accomplishment."

"Accomplishment?" Sam seethed. "I started the Apocalypse! That's--- That doesn't deserve a reward!"

Lucifer didn't seem to agree. "Now, now, Sam. You've been listening to _them_. The ones who _want_ war, the ones who crave death and destruction. I'm not like them. I have no intention of destroying the world. I just want to show it the way things really are. I want to show those liars and manipulators upstairs for what they are. Can you say that about angels like Zachariah? You've seen his true colors. Was he being righteous when he shattered your legs and tore out your lungs, just to make an example of you to Dean about staying in line?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, trying to regroup. "Get out of my head!"

Lucifer---Nick, whatever he wanted to call himself---sighed. "I'm sorry. All right? I'm coming on too strong. I forget how sensitive you humans are sometimes. Let's start over."

"I just want to leave," Sam replied, almost ready to beg. "You don't owe me anything. Just let me leave, please."

"Ah, that's where you're wrong. I _do_ owe you."

Sam shook his head. This was crazy, and weird, and it was scaring the Hell out of him. Part of him wanted Dean to bust in the door any second…most of him knew that wasn't likely to happen ever again. Sam was alone.

"Hm," Lucifer huffed, sadly. "You're hurting so badly, you don't even know it. I can feel it, you know? When you think about Dean. I can feel how much he hurt you when he let you leave."

"It was my choice. Dean didn't---"

"You reached out to him. He could have embraced you, but instead he pushed you away. All but told you to go. I _know_, Sam. That's just how it was with Michael."

Sam blinked. Michael? Was Lucifer talking about---? _Don't listen to these lies. Don't listen_….

"I wanted Michael to understand. I needed him. He was my brother, and he cast me out. Banished me like a common monster. That hurt, for a long time, and I see that same pain inside you, Sam. You wanted Dean to argue with you that day in River Pass. Wanted him to _need_ you. But, he couldn't. He's too wrapped up in his own problems. He doesn't think he can help you deal with yours, too."

"Stop it." Sam demanded, anger outweighing the fear for a brief moment. "You don't know Dean, or me. You don't understand."

"But, I do." Lucifer said quietly, stepping closer. Sam stepped back reflexively, but found himself against the wall next to the door. He couldn't get away. "Is that it? If I can help you clear the air with Dean, if I can get him to listen to you, will that be enough?"

"Stay away from him," Sam bristled defensively. "I don't want you hurting him."

Lucifer observed Sam for a moment, a curious frown on his face. "You can't. You want to make him understand, but you _can't_. It's too hard to face him and tell him how you feel…."

"Leave Dean out of this---"

"I thought maybe Dean was the problem, but it's you. You're so torn up inside, so afraid of what you are, that telling Dean the truth frightens you. You're terrified that when he sees the real you, knows how you feel, he'll cut you out for good. That's why you left, isn't it? You wanted to leave, before he rejected you again."

Sam closed his eyes. He had to get out of there. He jumped when Lucifer's hands fell onto his shoulders.

"I understand now, Sam. This, I know I can do for you."

"What?" Sam was alarmed. "What are---?"

"I promise you, my friend, when you meet Dean again, you'll tell him how you honestly feel, and he will listen. But, first…you have to be honest with yourself."

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_One month later_…

"_You haven't tried to call him at all?_"

Dean would have squeezed his eyes shut had he not been driving. Bobby had been on his case for two weeks now about talking to Sam.

It wasn't like he didn't _want_ to. Dean had opened his cell dozens of times over the last seven or eight weeks since Sam left, but he'd always backed down.

Besides, Sam hadn't called him, either. That said something, too.

"_I'll take that as a no_." Bobby growled. Irate seemed to be his default setting these days. Dean figured being confined to a hospital room and going to rehab every day would do that to anyone. _Doesn't mean he has to take it out on me, though_.

"It's not like I don't want to, Bobby! I just…don't know what to say to him."

"_'How are you' is a good ice breaker. Listen, Dean, I'm worried_---"

"Well, what about you?" Dean asked, interrupting angrily. "When was the last time you talked to him?"

"_Over a month ago_," the older man grumbled. "_He said he was okay, but didn't really sound like it_---"

"I wouldn't think so." Dean retorted softly. Sam wasn't okay. He needed to sort things out for himself. Not like you could do that on the road, hunting. Sam had made the right choice in Colorado. He needed to get himself straightened out. Maybe then, they could….

"_Damn it! If you'll listen for a minute, I'm telling you that_ _I tried calling him again_…_but he hasn't picked up in almost four weeks, and that worries me_."

Bobby's statement made Dean sit up straighter in the seat. That didn't sound right. Sam shouldn't be ignoring his phone. "You leave any messages? I mean…you know how Sammy gets. He needs to sort things out for himself. He's probably---"

"_I've left ten messages, Dean, and this is starting to remind me a little too much of last summer_."

_When Sam went off on his own after burying you_. Dean heard the unspoken words all too clearly. He didn't like that. Sam had gotten himself into a lot of trouble then. Ruby was dead, but Dean's little brother was a magnet for all kinds of bad things.

If Sam had fallen off the wagon with that blood addiction thing….

"_Yeah_," Bobby said, reading his thoughts through the phone. "_I think that's a bad sign, too, genius_."

Dean sighed. He was tired. He'd been tired for a long time. "What do you want from me, Bobby?"

"_Well, why don't you try something as breathtakingly thoughtful as finding him and talking to him?_"

"He left," Dean snapped. "He screwed up. He messed himself up with that blood, and _he left_. I can't help him with any of that."

"_You could try_."

Dean owed Bobby his life, thought of him as a surrogate father, even. A better one than Dean had actually had. Those facts were all that kept him from hanging up. "Are you saying any of this is _my_ fault?"

That got a sigh. "_I'm not blaming you, kid. But…Sam is your brother. Yeah, he screwed up. Hell, he went off the deep end and made the biggest mistake since Judas. I know he's going to have a hard time coming back from that. But, Dean…you know how that story ended, too_. _He needs you_."

It was Dean's turn to sigh. "Yeah. Yeah, I know, Bobby. Look, I'm stopping for the night in a little while, anyway. When I find a motel, I'll call him. Maybe I can get him to come see you, or something."

If Bobby noticed him dodging an actual meeting, he didn't say anything. A beep from the phone caught Dean's attention. "Hey, I'm getting a call. I'll let you know what I find out."

"_All right. See ya_."

Dean looked at the phone's screen before switching over. Sam's number. Well, that was…eerie. He hit the button, and took a deep breath. He wasn't ready for this conversation, yet. "Hey, Sam."

"_Is this Dean?_"

A chill swept over Dean at the unfamiliar voice. His little internal trouble alarm starting wailing like an overloaded EMF. "Who is this?"

"_We've met before. I tried to introduce myself, but I didn't realize that you couldn't perceive my true voice. I assumed you and your brother were special. I apologize for that_."

_Certain people---special people---can perceive my true visage_… Castiel had said that back when Dean had first met him. But, the only time that had happened since….

That little trouble alarm in his head grew to a full-on siren. "Is this…Lucifer?"

"_It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Dean_."

Lucifer was pleased to make his acquaintance. Dean stared at his phone in disbelief for a moment. Then he remembered. Lucifer was making his acquaintance from Sam's cell phone.

"Where's my brother?"

There was a pause. "_He's with me. We need to talk, Dean. All three of us. Can you come?_"

"You've got to be kidding," Dean snorted in disbelief. The devil was asking him to hand himself over. Just like that. Great plan. But, the part about Sam being there gave him pause. "Where's Sam?"

"_I told you, Dean. He's here_," Lucifer answered calmly, then there was a sound as if the phone was moving. Out of the background, Dean heard screaming. Awful, gut-wrenching screaming.

It was Sam. He'd know the voice anywhere.

"Sammy! Sam?! What the---?"

"_He needs to see you. We all need to talk_."

"What the Hell are you doing to him?" Dean demanded, his blood boiling. He was tired of angels and demons using his brother as leverage. That was crossing the line, no matter what he and Sam were going through on a personal level.

"_I'm repaying my debt. Now, to do that, as I said, we need to see you_. _You have my word that you won't be harmed. You and your brother are honorable men, Dean. I don't give my word lightly. I'm sure you can appreciate that._"

Dean squeezed the steering wheel hard enough to bend it. He was about to be all kinds of stupid. He was going to hand himself over to Lucifer, the Prince of freakin' Darkness himself…but he wasn't about to let the bastard hurt Sam anymore than it sounded like he had. Dean could still hear Sam's anguished screams in the background.

"Where are you? I'm coming."

00000

Dean pulled the Impala up to the small, secluded house as quietly as he could on the gravel driveway. The trip had ended up taking almost two days. Dean had driven all night, trying to make better time, but he'd just been too far away to do much better.

All he could think about on the way was Sam. What were they doing to him? The kid's screams had echoed in his brain the whole drive. Dean had toyed with the possibility that it was all a trick. A trap for him, and that Sam wasn't really in danger. But, that didn't feel right. Sam was there, Dean knew it. They didn't have _good_ luck.

Picking up Ruby's knife, he pocketed some holy water and stepped out into the warm daylight and looked the place over. One story, but it looked like it had a basement. The windows were all boarded up.

He was going to kill himself a whole house-load of demons when he went inside.

There had been little point in making a plan. He knew he had little chance of defeating Lucifer himself, and he wasn't about to go crawling to Zachariah for help. He'd called Bobby, gave him the address and told him to try and summon Cas. With any luck, he'd have a little backup.

_Who am I kidding? I'm toast. Sam's toast_. There was no way Dean could mount a successful rescue, not in a situation like this. But, at least they'd go out together. Seemed fitting, even after everything.

Dean grabbed his shotgun off the seat and closed the door. The grounds were silent, except for the breeze. No animals, not even bugs.

As he got close, the front door opened, and two people walked out. One was tall and thin, with a receding hairline. The other was shorter, with a round face and big ears. They appeared normal, save the black eyes. Dean stopped, shotgun partially raised. They said nothing, just stepped to the sides of the front steps.

_Guards? _

Dean reevaluated what little of a plan he had. They knew he was there. Going in under a truce might be preferable, after all.

The demons watched him, but did nothing. He'd wanted to circle the joint once, to get the lay of the land, but there wasn't much point now that he'd been seen. Dean approached slowly. He stopped just outside their reach, and looked them over. He nodded to each in greeting. "Bert. Ernie."

If they got that, they didn't show it. They just watched him. It was discomfiting. He'd rather they attack. At least then he'd know where he stood. One of them motioned inside with a toss of the head. Dean grimaced, and slowly crossed the threshold into the house.

Inside, the house was neat but bare. A few chairs. A couch. A coffee table. No lights, it appeared. There were plenty of demons, though. No fewer than ten inside, spread through the living room on his right and a small kitchenette off to the left. They all watched Dean impassively. _A little on the Stepford side_….

Ahead there were two open doors. One led into a bedroom, with a comfortable looking bed, but little else. Through the other lay stairs, leading down. Probably to the basement he'd noticed from the outside. The demons were standing, almost forming a path to follow. They seemed to want him to go downstairs.

Dean's anxiety was growing by leaps and bounds. None of them spoke, nor did they seem to care that he was there. That meant only one of two things: either they weren't afraid to face him, or he wasn't a threat. He was fairly certain it was the latter.

Halting at the door leading downstairs, he looked around. There was a short hallway to his left, with half a dozen more demons. They were packed in.

"You're expected."

Dean jumped, startled by the voice of one of the men from outside. The possessed man was standing right behind him. Glancing around, Dean put on a fake smile. "Quite a party you have going here."

"You missed most of it." The demon sneered back. It gestured down the stairs. "Please, our Father awaits your arrival."

With a frown, Dean turned and headed down. He went slowly. No one followed him. He figured they didn't need to. Lucifer, if he was there, didn't need to be guarded against a mere human, even one earmarked to be a vessel for an archangel.

He really hoped the demons hadn't heard about that part yet, or things might get ugly.

Wooden beams blocked most of the basement from view going down, but Dean could see enough to know the floor was concrete. It looked old, but clean. The demons had been playing house for a while, it seemed.

Holding his sawed off loosely in both hands, Dean took the last step, and rounded a thick wooden beam into the basement. He froze, mid-step, when he saw the whole room. The floor was clear, but from the walls hung every conceivable tool of torture Dean had ever seen. Blades, whips, chains, and an assortment of devices he'd only seen in old books. All of them were stained with blood.

In front of the far wall, opposite the stairs, stood a heavy-looking stone table, built like an altar. Stretched out in chains on top of the table lay what Dean thought was a body.

It was hard to tell under all the blood.

As Dean's eyes tracked over the lax form, he realized what---who---it was. The shotgun fell from his hands and clattered to the floor. Dean moved forward, fixated on the sight.

"Sammy?"

His brother was stripped to the waist, though the flannel sleep pants he wore were little more than tattered rags which barely counted as clothes anymore. Sam's head was turned away from him. There was something wrong with his face. Dean couldn't see what, but looking down the length of the body he could see that every visible inch of skin from the neck down had been carved and sliced open with surgical precision. The wounds had been sealed at some point, but the copious amounts of blood on the body and the altar were good evidence of what it must have looked like when they were fresh.

Other, longer incisions ran down Sam's chest and abdomen, past his hips and down his thighs. Dean's knees buckled, leaving him braced against the stone tabletop. He would have recognized the patterns anywhere.

Vivisection. Alastair's favorite pastime. Dean remembered it all too well.

Dean was speechless. After everything, the lies, the fights, the betrayals…he owed his little brother a serious beat down. But, he'd never wanted to see Sam like this. He would have gone back to Hell himself, gladly, to prevent something like this.

Even now, Dean knew Sam would have done the same for him.

He steeled himself, needing to check. Surely Sam couldn't have survived this, but…he needed to check. If there was even a spark of life left, maybe Cas or someone could….

He raised a shaking hand, and, cringing, reached up to feel for a pulse. Then, Dean about leapt into the air in fright. As soon as his fingers touched the side of Sam's neck, his brother sprang to life, gasping for air, back arching off the table as though he'd been touched with a live wire. The chains along his arms and legs held him down.

"W-whosthere? Wh—who's---?"

The incisions weren't the worst part. Neither was the blood or the wet gurgling sounds Sam made when he tried to speak. No, the worst was the face.

Sam's eyes were gone.

There were red splotches and blisters around what was left of the lids. Dean had seen it before. Pamela. His brother's eyes had been burned out. He could see right down into the sockets. Dean gagged.

"Wh-who's….pl-pl-ple…" Sam kept gasping out words, head turning spasmodically, blindly searching. Dean tried to control his stomach.

"Oh, God…Sam? Sammy, can you hear me?"

Sam obviously heard him, but found no comfort in the sound of his voice. He started flailing helpless against the chains, turning his head away.

"No…nonono…you're not real, notreal, notreal, notreal…not again…nonono…please…."

"Sammy it's me. Sammy?" Dean tried to get his attention, holding Sam's head still, but his brother just fought the grip weakly and kept begging for it not to be real.

Dean understood that desire. He couldn't help but look back down Sam's body, the memories of his own torment flashing back to him with awful clarity.

"I'm glad you could make it."

Dean's head snapped up. A man was standing a few feet behind the altar, down near Sam's feet. He was dressed plainly, had a stubble beard, and looked as though he'd been a drinker at some point. The unassuming man smiled at him, and bowed his head politely.

"Dean."

Lucifer's vessel was on the pudgy, unkempt, couch potato side of the scale. Not what Dean had expected, but at that point, he really didn't care. "You…you son of a bitch."

The man frowned, but didn't look too concerned. "I'd hoped you would appreciate all this work a little more." He watched Dean for a moment, then nodded at Sam. "I see you recognize the technique."

Dean was nauseated. He couldn't take his eyes off Sam. He couldn't understand how this had happened, though. "I'd recognize Alastair's work anywhere. But, he's dead."

Lucifer moved slowly, coming to stand across the altar from Dean. "Who do you think taught him? Frankly, he was a bad student. He was good at breaking the body, but he never could get a handle on the _mind_, but, still, what he lacked in talent, he made up for by eliminating the competition for his job."

The idea that Alastair was viewed as a _failure_ in the torture category was more than a little horrifying to Dean. He looked up with an incredulous frown. Lucifer shrugged.

"Well, you, for example. Alastair took thirty _years_ to break you. I never would have taken that long. Now, take your little brother here. He's just as strong as you, whatever you might think of him, and in some ways, he's even more stubborn. He only lasted a month with me."

All Dean could do was stare at the man---vessel. Whatever it was. So completely and callously inhuman. The way he talked about breaking Sam…the way others might talk sports or cars. No emotional investment at all. It was beyond words. Lucifer didn't seem to notice Dean's scorn, he just looked over Sam the way someone would review an arts and crafts project.

"Well…a month for _us_. Ten or twelve years for him. You know how that goes."

Dean almost gagged again. He'd never, _never_, wished anything like what he went through on anyone. Sam could have sided with ten demons over Dean and he still wouldn't have wished that kind of Hell on him. He forced himself not to look down at his brother, and kept his eyes on Sam's tormentor.

"You said you were repaying a debt. What did Sam ever do to you to deserve _this_?"

"He didn't do anything to me. He did something _for_ me. He released me. You were there. But, it wasn't until I found him and talked it out that I realized that rewarding him wasn't as simple as giving a gift or granting a request. I mean, with _most_ people, it probably would have been. But…Sammy here, he's got character. Honor. I can appreciate that. And I can see he got that from you. You should be proud. Took a little while, I finally found something I could do for him that would repay him properly."

Dean couldn't help but shake his head in disbelief. This was insane. His eyes dropped back to Sam's---or where Sam's used to be. How could anyone see this as---

"Oh, yeah. The eyes. I regret that, but, like I told you on the phone, I thought you and your brother were special. I didn't realize Sam couldn't handle my true appearance until it was too late. Ironically, he couldn't see what I was trying to do for him…but he can, now."

Unable to withhold his contempt any longer, Dean glared up at Sam's captor. "You've got a funny idea of---"

"Sam needed to be free of his guilt," Lucifer interrupted, spreading his hands wide as he spoke. "Of his mistakes, as he sees them. He was drowning in his guilt and the pain of your rejection. He needed to be free of your blame."

Dean bristled. "I don't bl---"

"Please," Lucifer chided, shooting Dean a conspiratorial smirk. "All you mud-monkies know how to do is blame. Point fingers. Cast stones. You can't see past Sam's mistakes, his faults, and you can't forgive him because you're too hung up on your own. Sam understands that. He's remarkably free of animosity when it comes to you, Dean. I suppose that's because he spent so much of his life idolizing you. He doesn't know how to do anything else. The only thing he wants is your forgiveness and your trust, but he's convinced he'll never get it."

Dean dropped his gaze to Sam, again. It wasn't hard to figure out why his brother felt that way, of course. He might have worked through that, but the realization that Sam had endured a month of brutal torture, believing that he was alone and abandoned…. Dean had at least been able to hold on to the belief that Sam hadn't given up on him---and until Ruby had intervened, Dean knew that his brother hadn't.

"Sam needs to talk to you, Dean," Lucifer said, voice rising and pitching like some church preacher. "He needs you to hear him. He needs to tell you what he's been dying to tell you for so long, but never thought you would believe."

Eyeing the Fallen angel suspiciously, Dean wondered where this was all going. He kept waiting for the trap to be sprung, to be caught and killed along with Sam. He'd honestly assumed, heading in, that he'd be dust by now. Lucifer wasn't even threatening him though.

"Now," Lucifer announced, holding up a finger for pause. "Sam can."

Lucifer bent down, so that his mouth was right at Sam's ear. "Sam."

Dean could only watch as Sam jerked away from the voice. Even without eyes, Sam's expression spoke of instant terror.

"Your brother is here. It's time for you to tell him what you told me."

Sam froze for a moment, then slowly began shaking his head, cringing away from the direction of his captor's voice. Lucifer frowned, but spoke like a patient school teacher. "Now, Sam…we talked about this."

He raised one hand above Sam's chest, and clenched it into a fist. The reaction was immediate. Sam's back arched up off the altar, and a hoarse, bone-chilling scream tore from his throat. Dean stepped forward, tensed to attack, but Lucifer warned him off with a stern glare and a shake of his head. Sam continued to scream.

Lucifer said Sam's name again, keeping him there in agony with his power.

"Dean…Dean!" Sam choked out between cries, his sightless stare swept over where he was standing. Dean didn't need prodding. He stepped up and touched Sam's cheeks with his hands, steadying his head. Sam was still writhing in pain.

"Dean!"

"I'm here, Sam. I'm right here."

"Th-that night…at the c-convent…." Sam was screaming so hard he could barely force the words out. "I-I wanted to turn back. I f-felt so b-bad about the fight…R-Ruby was pushing, b-but…ph-phone, I checked the…phone--- Oh, _God_!"

Sam twisted away, the pain consuming him. Dean punched the surface of the altar and spun on Lucifer. "Stop, you bastard!"

Lucifer didn't budge, didn't release Sam. "We're almost there. Tell him, Sam."

Dean wanted to scream himself, in frustration, in agony right along with his sibling. The rational part of his brain kicked in, though, and told him that Sam would only be released when he said whatever it was he was trying to say. Dean grabbed Sam's head again. "Sammy, come on, man. What about the phone?"

His brother seemed to calm a little, but it was obvious he was still being tortured. "Y-your message. You s-said I was a m-monster….th-that you'd h-hunt me…I d-didn't care any-anymore. I w-wanted to…just wanted to die…."

Lucifer unclenched his hand, and Sam collapsed back against the altar, panting, spent. Dean just stared at Sam's sweat and blood-soaked face, could only watch as Sam started to sob silently and rolled his head away.

Dean didn't understand. Message? He only remembered one message that day, his apology. The one he'd sent before the angels cut him off. The one Sam never mentioned later.

"I was curious about that, too." Lucifer said quietly. He rested a hand on Sam's forehead, and he instantly stilled, corded muscles going limp. With his other hand, he produced Sam's cell phone. He looked at it for a moment, and then tossed it to Dean. "From what Sam thinks about you, I couldn't believe you would say things like that until I heard it."

Catching the phone, Dean cast a wary eye at Sam, who was breathing so slowly it was almost imperceptible, but he _was_ breathing. Dragging his eyes to the cell, Dean thumbed the menu button and found the voicemail list. There were several un-opened from Bobby, but Dean settled on the only saved message. It was from May, the night Lucifer was freed.

Dean blinked. That should be the message he left. His apology from Zachariah's green room. With an odd sense of dread, he hit the button to play it.

The message started off with a bang. "_Listen to me, you blood-sucking freak…_"

His mouth slowly dropped open. He'd never said--- "…_I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam, a vampire. You're not you anymore, and there's no going back_."

For a moment, all he could do was stare at the phone as the screen went back to the menu. Dean was stunned. That wasn't his message, he hadn't… Sam's words from moments before replayed in his mind.

_I didn't care anymore. I just wanted to die_.

"You really didn't say those things, did you?"

Dean looked up. Lucifer was staring at him. All he could do was shake his head. "I-I never said that."

"Hm. Well, that's what Sam heard, and it pushed him over the edge. Maybe you should ask your 'friends' upstairs about that. Trust me, they can be a lot scarier than me."

With that, Lucifer turned back to Sam, laying a hand on his bloody chest. "Thank you for releasing me, Sam. Now, we're even."

Dean glanced back at Sam's cell in his hand, still not quite believing it. He heard a rustle of air, and when he looked up, Lucifer was gone. He turned, searching the room, but he was alone, except for Sam, who was---

"Sammy?"

Sam was still on the altar, but completely healed, fully clothed. He groaned a little, coming around. When Dean got close he could see that Sam's eyes were intact. All the appalling injuries were gone. "Sam?"

His brother blinked a moment, clearly dazed, then his eyes widened and he lurched upward, crying out and pulling against chains that were no longer there. Dean barely caught him before he tumbled backward off the altar.

"Hey, hey! You're okay. It's over, Sammy."

_Jesus_… Sam was shaking like a leaf; his heart pounding so hard Dean could feel it against his arm as he helped him down onto the floor. Dean steadied him as he checked him over. All the torn skin and bloody incisions were gone. Sam was whole again.

Grateful as Dean was for that miracle, he couldn't help but think about all he'd learned here, and how he'd learned it. It had all been real, he knew that much.

The haunted look in Sam's eyes proved it.

00000

Dean woke with a start. He'd been seeing Sam in his dreams all night. Chained down, being sliced and cut and mutilated. Over and over. He wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to calm his breathing.

It hadn't been a pleasant afternoon. All the demons had booked with Lucifer, leaving him and Sam alone, but that was where the good news ended. He'd helped Sam to the car and put as many miles as possible between them and that house before nightfall. He didn't even want to be in the same state, and he was certain Sam didn't either.

Not that Sam had said, either way. Instead, he'd curled himself against the passenger side door as soon as he'd been placed in the Impala, and hadn't moved a muscle until they reached their current motel. He had kept blinking, eyes darting around as though Sam was testing them to make sure they were still there.

Dean wondered how long Sam had been blind. What else Lucifer and those demons had done to him while he was.

By the time they'd stopped for the night, Sam was worse, nearly catatonic. He was moving by then, at least, but he kept running his hands up and down his torso. It hadn't made any sense, at first, but then Dean realized that Sam was feeling where the incisions had been. Where his body had been splayed open. Not knowing what else to do, Dean just put him to bed and locked the room down, before turning in himself. He'd try and get Sam to eat in the morning, and they'd go from there.

Such memories could be crippling, Dean knew. The main difference was that Dean's memory had come back slowly, piecemeal, after Castiel had rescued him. It had taken a few weeks for his mind to catch up and start remembering the horrors he'd endured.

Sam didn't seem to have that luxury. For him, Hell had been _that morning_. He remembered it all, and couldn't seem to reconcile the fact that he was in one piece again. That had to be hard. Dean had doubted Sam could sleep after that, but his brother surprised him and had passed out soon after being led to a bed.

_Speaking of_…. Dean rolled his head over, scanning the darkness to see Sam's bed. When his eyes adjusted, he saw that it was empty. Dean jackknifed out of bed. In the gloom, he could see that Sam's covers were thrown back.

He noticed light from behind the closed bathroom door. That calmed Dean a little. He waited for a few minutes, waiting to hear water running or movement, something that would tell him that Sam was all right, and had just gotten up to use the facilities.

Something that would tell him Sam was back to normal.

Of course, it was never that easy for a Winchester. With no sound coming from the bathroom, Dean decided to go and check. Leery as he was to invade Sam's privacy after what he'd been through, he didn't want to wait until morning and find him hanging from his own shoelaces, either.

He went over, and started to knock before he saw that the door wasn't closed, but cracked open. Dean slowly, cautiously, pushed it open and stuck his head inside. Sam was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, eyes wide and looking around at the walls. He didn't seem aware of Dean's entrance.

"Sam?" Dean called softly, not wanting to startle him.

His brother's head turned, eyes still wide, taking everything in. He spoke hesitantly. "Dean?"

Sam regarded him for a moment, eyes moving from Dean, to the door, to the room beyond, and back. He seemed to settle. "I thought you were asleep."

"Was. Wanted to check on you. What's going on? Why are you in here?"

His sibling shrank a little. Dean noticed he was paler than before, like he'd been throwing up. _Can't really blame him there_.

"I, uh…needed to see. Woke up and it was…."

That's when it clicked, and Dean wanted to kick himself. He should have left the television on, or a light. He hadn't considered what waking up in a pitch black room might do to someone who'd recently had his eyes burned out of his skull.

He stepped in, closed the door so Sam wouldn't see the still dark room, and sat next to him on the tub wall. He motioned to his eyes. "How long?"

Sam regarded him for a moment, then realization dawned on his face. "About ten y---" He froze, lip quivering, then glanced from Dean down to his watch with an uncertain frown. "Um…about a month ago. The first night he had me at that house. Around the 28th, I think. He didn't know I couldn't…look at him."

Dean didn't really like how Sam seemed to be making an excuse for Lucifer _blinding_ him, there, but didn't respond to that. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Burning," Sam whispered, shuddering. His eyes seemed to glaze over. "Everything was burning, even my blood. He said I needed to talk things over with you. Made me talk…. You were really there, right? It was you, that last time."

_That last time_. Dean remembered Sam's manic _you're not real_ when he'd woken up on the altar, and wondered what kind of sick games those bastards must have played with Sam. "Yeah. Yeah, it was me."

Dean considered what Sam had admitted to him when he was being tortured, but didn't really want to get into it all, just yet. It seemed unfair when Sam was so traumatized. Not to mention that he had no idea how to start the conversation.

He'd been working, for months, under the assumption that Sam had heard his message that night and rejected it. That he'd gone with Ruby even after Dean apologized for the fight and his Dad-like ultimatum. Learning now that that wasn't the case turned everything upside down, so Dean wanted to handle that carefully. For the moment, he decided just to focus on Sam's ordeal.

"What did he want? Why did he come after you?"

"He wanted to repay me for setting him free. Just like Ruby said he would."

"Yeah," Dean snorted. "These angels and demons have funny ideas about showing gratitude."

Sam didn't seem to share his amusement. Just the opposite; he looked like he was falling in on himself. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and hunched, eyes welling up. He didn't say anything, just sat there and started to fall apart.

There'd been a lot of water under their particular bridge, a lot of unresolved issues and hurts and anger, but Dean couldn't just sit and watch. Wasn't wired that way. He reached over and pulled Sam closer, resting his brother's shivering body against his. "Take it easy, bro."

Sam seemed to calm down after a few minutes, taking a few deep breaths. The shaking subsided slowly. "I never expected to walk out of that convent."

The quiet words caught Dean off-guard. He looked down, but Sam's face was hidden behind his hair, so Dean just kept his arm around him and waited for the rest.

"I knew it was over. After what you said, I--- I figured Lilith would kill me and then...there was never supposed to be an _after_."

It hurt to hear. Dean knew Sam had been struggling with his mistakes, with Ruby's betrayal, but he hadn't realized that Sam had expected to die. That he might have expected Dean to hunt him down afterward. That he had, even for a short time, _preferred _death. That was hard to take.

Especially when it was a false message in Dean's name that pushed Sam over that edge.

When Sam didn't continue speaking, Dean figured that then was as good an opportunity as any. He shifted his weight, speaking against the top of Sam's head. "Listen, I uh..." He cleared his throat. This was harder than he thought. "That message you heard, the one about you being a freak and all that...."

Sam tensed, started to pull away, but Dean held on. He had to get this out in the open. "It wasn't me. Sam, it wasn't me talking."

His brother stopped, turning his head slightly to look up at Dean. "What?"

Dean nodded slowly. "I called, but it was--- I said I was sorry, about the fight, about the stuff I said in the hotel. I never called you a vampire...and I'd _never _hunt you."

Sam thought that over. Dean gave him time, especially since it looked like it was a chore just for him to breathe, let alone process any deep thoughts. Finally, Sam shook his head. "It was a fake? Who...Ruby?"

"I don't know," Dean shrugged. It really didn't matter at that point. "We were getting played by both sides. For all we know, they were working together, Zac, Ruby, all of 'em."

"Guess they did a good job," Sam muttered, after a moment. Dean watched him trying to pull himself together.

"Listen, uh...you've been through a lot," Dean began slowly. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone right now, not if Lucifer's goons can find you. I think, maybe...you should stick with me."

He wasn't sure how Sam would react to that, but hoped the offer would be enough to make him consider it. Dean didn't want Sam out there alone, not if the demons were gunning for him, too, now.

But, Sam was staring into the distance again. "He never lied to me, Dean."

"What? Who?"

His brother looked at him, the haunted look in his eyes all too familiar. "Lucifer. He told the truth. He didn't have to lie."

Dean eyed his brother, worriedly. What was that condition called? Stockholm Syndrome? Sam didn't need to be sympathizing with the devil. "Sammy, you shouldn't think too much about it. Not right now---"

"The angels are right." Sam cut in. "I saw him, the _real _him...what he's capable of. You have to stop him, Dean. We're all going to burn if you don't."

Dean watched him, there was no vengeful fervor in Sam's eyes, like there had been when Sam was hunting Lilith. Just fear, mixed with an awful certainty---and maybe a little _crazy_. Lucifer had gotten in Sam's head, screwed with him, and frightened him down to the core.

Seeing his little brother abused wasn't something that Dean ever enjoyed. It made him angry. But, more than that, it made him realize how broken Sam was, how he had been for a while now. It had been hard to see under the determination and the regret that Sam wore like a mask, but Dean could see it now. Lucifer had stripped the rest away and let Dean see Sam how he really was.

It wasn't a pretty sight. Dean decided it was time to start cleaning up the mess.

"You know…I can't exactly rely on most of the angels. I might need some help with this one, Sammy."

Sam stared at him, clearly uncertain as to what he was hearing. Dean took pity and spelled it out for him. "You wanna get off the bench and give me a hand?"

"I thought---" Sam faltered, looking away. "I thought you couldn't trust me?"

Dean pursed his lips, making a show of mulling it over. "Well, no time like now for a do-over. Don't you think?"

Sam didn't say anything, but didn't disagree, either. For a moment, Dean thought he noticed a spark of relief in his eyes. Or maybe hope. Whatever it was, Dean knew he hadn't seen it in a very long time, even before Ilchester. He squeezed Sam's shoulder, then rose and lifted his brother to his feet.

"Come on, Sammy. There's an infomercial waiting with our names on it. We can go back and get your stuff tomorrow."

The rest of the pieces could be picked up later.

END


End file.
